


At the church

by RipperBlackstaff



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), The Tournament (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RipperBlackstaff/pseuds/RipperBlackstaff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father MacAvoy tries to pray but a parishioner distracts him</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the church

Joseph watched Belle from the corner of his eyes. Father MacAvoy was attempting to pray, kneeling on the steps leading to the altar. He had his head bowed, palms joined. On the first row of the church, Belle French was staring at the cross above the altar, and sneaking glances at him from time to time. Little by little, he stopped praying and focused on observing the beautiful woman from the corner of his eyes. She was gorgeous. And from chatting with her, he knew she was also smart, educated and generous. Everything he was not. All he had for himself was his will to try and these days, it wasn’t something he had this anymore.

Belle suddenly got up and her heels clacked loudly, echoing around the empty height of the building and with each steps, Joseph could feel his spine tensing, forcing him to stand straighter, to bow his head more. He broke a sweat, an icy drop running down his back in dread. He didn’t even know why he was reacting that way, he just did.

Suddenly a weight on his shoulders made him almost jump out of his skin.  
"Father?"

It was Belle, putting her hands on his shoulders. He fervently prayed his frock was preventing her from feeling the fast and heavy rythmn of his heart beating under her palms.

"Are you alright ? You’re looking pale.."

She was… perfect. There weren’t no other words. Nice, caring… To find in her heart the strength of caring for him, who was the scum of the earth, dirt under her shoes.

"I’m fine, child. I’m.. chilly."

Please let her not hear the breathlessness of his voice, the eagerness of his tone, the dirtyness of his timber. What he wanted to do with her was not.. proper for a man like him to wish.

"You should go him, Father MacAvoy. I’ll bring you a casserole, alright ? I made stew for Gaston and I, and I made too much. You’ll have more than your share."

He nodded. She stayed a moment, staring at his nape, bent suddenly, quickly, like a spur of the moment thing. His cheek burnt with the imprint of her fiery lips then she left, fast, almost running.

He stayed long hours after that, staring at the cross, his flesh betraying him grossly, his legs wanting nothing more than to run after her, his hands and arm wanting to crush her against him tightly, his tongue wanting to mate with hers and his mouth wanting to confess everything to her.

But as hours passed, as day turned into night, all he could do was kneel there, praying, hoping, that someone up there would deliver him from this torment.


End file.
